


For You Shall Be My Lady Love

by whowhatsitwhich



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fix-It, Headcanon, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2020-02-29 09:14:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18775303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whowhatsitwhich/pseuds/whowhatsitwhich
Summary: Any reminder cut him to the quick…the way she’d kissed him after the battle, her hands cupping his chin; the way she’d avoided the feast once they’d seen to their dead, huddled in the shadows of the library with her arms around her knees; the smile that flickered and died shortly after he’d told her of his new name and station; the way she shook her head and kissed him again before turning away and disappearing into the night... “Never mind. It doesn’t matter. Arya will do what she wants no matter what anyone else says.”





	For You Shall Be My Lady Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jeeno2](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeeno2/gifts).



> This is only the second time I've written these two so please forgive any mistakes. I will try to do better. For the lovely Jeeno2 who introduced me to this fandom and this pairing...yes, it is your fault.

 

_“For you shall be my lady love, and I shall be your lord. I’ll always keep you warm and safe, and guard you with my sword.”~[A Storm of Swords](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/A_Storm_of_Swords), [Chapter 22](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/A_Storm_of_Swords-Chapter_22), Arya IV. _

It loomed on the horizon like a mountain…one huge tower surrounded by a massive curtain wall, standing hard on the edge of Shipbreaker’s Bay. Storm’s End had never fallen to an enemy, not to the armies of men or the gods themselves if the legends were to be believed. 

“It was built by Durran during the Age of Heros with the help of Bran the Builder,” Davos Seaworth commented into the silence. He watched Gendry out of the corner of his eye as the fortress came more clearly into view. The thickness of the walls weren’t evident from this view but the lack of windows and sharp corners were. “It was the seventh keep built in this spot and the only one able to withstand the storms that roll up out of the bay. The sea wall is 80 feet thick and drops 150 feet to the sea. She’ll never be easily taken.” 

“You made it in during the Rebellion?” Gendry tore his gaze from the castle and glanced at his companion. “That’s why they call you Onion Knight?” 

“I did. Lucky for both me and for Lord Stannis.” 

“Will this Ser Gilbert Farring see us? Maybe we should have raised your sigil? They’ll know it.” He frowned at the crowned stag waving behind them, carried by a nameless boy from the North. Nameless boy? By the Seven, he was a nameless boy from Fleabottom with no right to a sigil or a castle or the hammer he carried. 

“The maester at Winterfell sent a raven and Jon sent riders ahead to let them know we were coming.” Davos craned his neck, looking back at the long train of wagons and men trailing them. “Not likely that we could sneak up with this lot in any case. They’ll be expecting us, no doubt of that.” 

“Didn’t Bran the Builder also raise the Wall and Winterfell?” Gendry tried and failed to suppress a wince at the mention of the Stark stronghold. He quickly averted his head, studying Storm’s End more intently than before. Any reminder cut him to the quick…the way she’d kissed him after the battle, her hands cupping his chin; the way she’d avoided the feast once they’d seen to their dead, huddled in the shadows of the library with her arms around her knees; the smile that flickered and died shortly after he’d told her of his new name and station; the way she shook her head and kissed him again before turning away and disappearing into the night; the dagger on his table the morning he was to leave Winterfell…antler-hilted and a Valerian steel blade…that fit his hand as if made for it.  

“She’ll be going back to the North with the others. Jon said she’d been asking questions about beyond the Wall.”

“She’s going to the Wildlings? Why? What possible reason…” His voice sputtered and died as he realized he was shouting. Shouting in the middle of the road like a fishwife while the garrison accompanying his party gawked in owl-eyed disbelief. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter. Arya will do what she wants no matter what anyone else says.”

“You really believe that?” 

“I can’t think about it. I need to learn these people and their ways. I have to make them see me as something other than a jumped up bastard with no right to his father’s name.” 

“As a smuggler who became Hand to the King, the only advice I can offer is to be yourself. Jon Snow said Tyrion Lannister once told him to never forget what he was because the rest of the world won’t. You’re a blacksmith. That’s what you are, who you are. House Baratheon was founded by a bastard who was friend to a king. It is your blood and your right. Seize it.” 

* * *

The weeks that followed were some of the longest of his life. Gendry woke before the sun most days and found his bed long after the stars lit up the night sky. The opulent main bed chamber made him feel like a pretender with its rich fabrics and intricately carved wood. He went there only to creep downstairs once the castle slept to a simple pallet behind the smithy. 

Those who knew about his wanderings took pains to overlook them. He was no true born, raised to rule. Instead, Gendry approached his tenure as Lord of Storm’s End in much the same way he did metalwork…slow and steady, deliberate, every decision made with an eye on the end result. The people were wary at first, looking to Davos and Ser Gilbert before reluctantly bending their neck. What he didn’t know, he trusted those who did to steer him in the right direction. Soon, that wariness gave way to grudging respect and then to genuine loyalty. The people of Storm’s End became his people and he became their lord. There was only one thing missing…

* * *

She presented herself at the gate, proud in her wool and leather and dirt, asking to see Lord Baratheon. 

“Who’re you?” The guard demanded, eyeing her up and down. “His lordship don’t greet every little twat that shows up at the front gate.” 

“He’ll see me,” Arya returned. “I’m a friend.”  Loud guffaws answered her. 

“Nobody’s got time for your games round here. Best you get on your way before we have to help you along.” 

“Call Ser Davos then,” Arya insisted. “He knows me.” 

“We already told you to get outta here now move along or I’m gonna find a cell to put you in until someone has time to deal with you.”  When he raised a mailed fist to drive his point home, she spread her hands and turned back to her horse. So much for doing things the easy way. 

* * *

The cold blade at his throat woke him as did the complaint hissed in his ear. “I had to search half of this castle looking for you.” Gendry eased away from the razor sharp edge and cut his eyes toward the sound. “What are you doing in the smithy, m’lord? Surely there’s a feather bed somewhere in this pile of rocks?”

“Never been much for a feather bed. Nor castles or highborns.”

“Not much difference when it comes down to it…a highborn eats and shits and bleeds just like a lowborn.” Her nose barely brushed the nape of his neck as she inhaled deeply. “They do smell a lot better, I’ll grant you that.” That was rich considering she still smelled of horse and dust and the kingsroad. 

“Did you come all the way here just to threaten me and give me shit about where I sleep?” 

The knife disappeared into her sleeve but she kept her tight hold around his neck, preventing him from rising or facing her fully. “I don’t know why I’m here,” she finally confessed. “I thought maybe you’d be happy to see me.” 

“Then why sneak in? Why show up in the middle of the night?” 

“Because your idiot guards wouldn’t let me through. They wouldn’t take me to see Davos or you. They called me a twat and told me to leave.”  Arya felt like reaching for her knife again when he started laughing. “Seven hells, I should have left. It was stupid to come here.” 

Gendry had to move quickly to grab her arm when she rose to do just that. “Wait! Arya, wait! I am…I mean…I am happy. I hoped you’d…don’t you see…I don’t…”  He sputtered to a halt when he saw the beginnings of a smirk tugging her lips up at the corners.  “Welcome to Storm’s End,” he growled. 

“That’s good.” Arya’s face smoothed out, looking almost too innocent. “A little less threatening next time and include some bit about walls and your table and you’ll have it down, m’lord.” 

“Don’t call me that.” 

“But that’s what you are, isn’t it? A lord?” 

“I’m Gendry. Just Gendry.” 

“And I’m just Arya,” she returned. “Not milady. Not hero of anything. Not anybody’s sister. Just Arya.” 

Gendry swallowed roughly. ‘And what are you doing here?” 

“I won’t be a lady,” she repeated. “But I would like to be your family if you still want me.”  Anything else she might have said was drowned in the fierce hug he swept her into. Her hands cupped his cheeks and she lifted herself on tiptoe to meet his mouth. 

* * *

Hours later, she was tucked into the curve his body made under a thick blanket, letting her eyes wander around the forge. “Why are you down here? Didn’t you like the upstairs room?”  

“Couldn’t sleep there. Was afraid to touch anything in that bloody room. Stags everywhere.” He flopped on his back and draped an arm over his eyes. “We can move in tomorrow if that’s what you want. It does have feather bed..a big one.” 

Arya pushed his arm aside and waited until his eyes met hers. “I don’t care about the bed, Gendry, as long as you’re there with me.” 

“You mean it?” 

“I’m here, aren’t I?” 

“Yes,” he murmured against her lips. “You are.” 

_“She spun away and said to him,_  
no featherbed for me.  
I’ll wear a gown of golden leaves,  
and bind my hair with grass,  
But you can be my forest love,  
and me your forest lass” ~  _ ___[A Storm of Swords](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/A_Storm_of_Swords), [Chapter 22](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/A_Storm_of_Swords-Chapter_22), Arya IV.  


End file.
